mysophobia
by closingdoors
Summary: Jane, Maura, and borrowed time. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

x. mysophobia; fear of germs. why you knew you'd only get her covered in dirt. why looking at yourself in the mirror always seems to hurt. why you will never be happy without being hers. out of this whole messed up world, she was the only thing pure.  
 **\- top ten fears, inkskinned**

* * *

This is part one of a twoshot that I already hate myself for writing but has been hanging around in the back of my mind for a little while. Please prepare yourself with tissues, chocolate, etc. Honestly.

* * *

There had been a time, weeks ago, when she had to scowl and flash her badge at the nurses for them to quiet about visiting hours. The clock would strike midnight and they'd still leave her alone, terrified by the intensity in her eyes and the scars on her hands that bulged as her fists balled and her voice grew low. Now, there are no frightened looks among them. There's just something like pity. And there had been a time, weeks ago, when she would have fought against it, rebelled against these strangers who dared pity her. Now she keeps her eyes on the sterile floor and only looks up when she reaches the right door, making sure to knock lightly.

Maura looks up when she enters, lifting her head from where it had been resting on the hospital bed. The bags beneath her eyes are carved deep, like purple bruises inflicted – probably – by herself. They only make the pallid tone of her skin all the more dramatic. It makes her heart stutter for a moment. It does every time. Maura has looked like this for weeks. Pale, tired, hair messy and piled on top of her head. She always has a panicked look in her eyes. Like there's something she's forgotten to do, as if maybe she's left the gas on or locked her keys in the car. There have been so many moments in these past few weeks when she has simply looked away from the pain. Her own has been so embedded deep within her, crawling and curling around everything, changing her, that she has been unable to cope with the idea of Maura hurting. She makes sure to look away again. She thought, perhaps, she might have gotten better at this as time passed. But time only made it worse.

"Sorry. If I'd known you were here…"

"We can sit in the same room as each other, Jane," Maura says sharply, but then she rubs a hand over her eyes and speaks softly. "I've been here since midday. It's my day off."

Jane's eyes track the hand covering Maura's eyes. Her ring finger is empty. Plain. Not even a mark in the place her wedding band used to sit. She slides her own left hand into her pocket as she sits on the other side of the hospital bed to Maura.

As she does, Maddie begins to stir. She wrinkles her nose uncomfortably as she becomes aware of the cannula at her nose, one small hand reaching to tug it away. Jane catches the hand before Maura can, pressing her lips against Maddie's knuckles and breathing her in, closing her eyes. She has always smelled faintly of vanilla. Even when she was a baby, she would sit with her nose at her hair for hours, obsessed with that smell, wondering how something could be so uniquely _her._ She had never once asked Maura about it – a little terrified that some sort of science would explain or dismiss it. No. She has always believed that her daughter is just special.

"Shh, baby, it's okay," she murmurs when Maddie whines, eyes beginning to flutter open. "You need that to help you breathe, okay? You're okay, baby."

Maddie mumbles, holding her arms up and, carefully, avoiding the tubes and wires attached to her, Jane cradles her in a hug. Maddie's elbows dig into her shoulders as she pats Jane's hair, playing with it like she always does. Ritualistic.

"Your hair's all flat, mommy," she rasps, and Jane laughs a little, releasing Maddie so that she's laying again.

"I haven't washed it in a while, that's all. Promise."

Once she's settled, Maddie's left hand reaches out for Maura. Jane stares at the two of them. It used to make her heart pound, noting how alike they look. The same honey coloured hair, hazel eyes, sloping jaw and distinctive nose. It used to be a blessing. Now it just makes her stomach flip, and if she had eaten anything in the past twenty four hours then maybe it would come flying back up. No. No, it is no longer beautiful. Still, she loves her daughter. She loves Maura. Loved.

Nothing is beautiful anymore.

"I'm thirsty, momma."

Maura no longer smiles. She used to, as some sort of comfort for Maddie. Now, Jane watches her nod, squeezing her daughter's hand before she grabs her a small glass of water. They sit in silence as she sips it, barely able to lift her head. Maura supports her skull with the palm of her hand.

When she is done, Maddie does not smile. Instead she breathes wheezily, hands gripping each of theirs tightly.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, baby?"

She leans forward to tuck a fallen lock of Maddie's hair behind her ear.

"Can I get a dog for my birthday?"

The laugh she lets out is a strangled, choked thing. Cups her daughter's cheek and blinks away tears at the paper thin feel of it.

"You can have two."

"You really mean it?"

"I promise."

Maddie looks over to Maura. "Momma?"

Maura is remarkably composed. The only thing that gives her away is the way she's trembling. Not just her hands, or her arms, but her whole body. Sometimes, she finds herself wondering when Maura is going to bolt. When it's all going to be too much and she'll abandon them when they need her the most. They've lost so much already, even each other. Maddie is all they have left.

"Anything you want," she answers calmly.

Maddie smiles weakly. "I want a husky. Cos they're big. And they live in the snow, so they'll be okay when it's cold."

Jane watches Maura breathe in and out slowly.

"We'll get you as many huskies as you want."

Maddie frowns. "Momma, your hives."

Maura drops her daughter's hand to place her palm against her sternum, where the skin is already beginning to turn red. Jane keeps quiet, kisses Maddie's hair, as Maura excuses herself from the room. She closes her eyes at the soft snick of the door.

Maddie is already asleep.

* * *

Maura had been beautiful through pregnancy. Jane had been so utterly transfixed by her. She had been so _full._ Of life. Of love. She'd never been aware of just how soft she could be. Patient.

The decision for Maura to carry their child had not come easily. Not because Jane had fought against it, but because Maura would always evade the subject of children. Years into their marriage she would always pass her off with _one day. Not just yet._ She had been forced to endure her mother's endless hints at wanting another grandchild, uncertain whether she would ever be able to fulfil that wish. Not just for her Ma, but for herself too. Until one night, Maura had rolled over, found her hand in the dark, and finally agreed to talk about kids.

But the talk had barely happened. It had been mentions of adoption, or of a sperm donor – debates that always felt one-sided, Maura always needing to be dragged away from their discussions by something else. She had looked half-heartedly through adoption forms and always shrugged at the possibility of Jane carrying their baby. Slowly the talk turned sour. The ring on Jane's finger had never been heavier. She hadn't recognised the woman she had married; the one who had once been willing to look after Jane's baby before the miscarriage, before they were even together.

And then, two weeks later –

"Jane?"

She'd grumbled, noticing the time on the clock only reading three in the morning. But Maura was sat upright, knees pulled up to her chest. Vulnerable and almost child-like. She'd propped herself up on one elbow immediately.

"Maur? What's wrong?"

Maura had trembled a little when Jane reached to curl a hand around on of her knees, squeezing her eyes shut tight before she answered.

"I want to carry the baby."

Jane sat up quickly, ripping the sheets away from her legs so that she could kneel in front of Maura. She'd felt her own hands beginning to tremble.

"Really? You really do want to have a baby together?"

Maura eyebrows knitted together as Jane felt herself smiling.

"Of course," she'd replied. "But I – I want to carry the baby. The first one. If we have more than one, that is."

Jane had grabbed her cheeks, pulled her close to kiss her fiercely. The little hum of surprise Maura made made her heart pound. Maura had been thinking about having multiple kids with her. Kids _plural._

"That's – Is this why you've been acting weird whenever I talk about kids?"

"I wasn't acting _weird."_

"Uh, yeah, you were. I was beginning to think you didn't want any at all."

Maura had sighed, finally stretched her legs out and away from her chest. Jane had leant back against the headboard so that Maura could curl into her side. It had been so easy then. She could just place a kiss on her forehead, her hair, her cheek. Anywhere she wanted. It had been so simple – loving.

"I thought… I thought you might think me a little selfish for my reasoning," she'd murmured. "I thought perhaps, if we favoured a sperm donor instead of adoption, you might want to carry the baby. And I didn't want to take that away from you because of… because of your miscarriage."

Jane had huffed, rolled her eyes. "Maur, I don't care _how_ we have a baby. I don't care if we adopt from our next door neighbours or use Cavanaugh for a sperm donor at this point, so long as we can have one."

Maura's nose wrinkled. "Cavanaugh? Jane, that's disgusting."

"I know. I think I just threw up in my mouth."

They'd laughed softly in the dim light together. After, Jane cushioned her cheek on top of Maura's head and let one of her fingers drift up and down Maura's arm.

"Why have you waited so long to tell me about this?"

Maura buried herself a little deeper into her side, tangled their legs together. Like trying to hold on. But she had never needed to ground Jane back then – the possibility of existing without each other had been absurd. Impossible. Unwanted.

"I suppose I felt the ridiculousness to my own argument. I know that I will love any child we have together regardless of whether I am biologically related or not. I love my parents very dearly and we have no blood connection. I love your family, too – they're my family, with or without blood. But… I've always _wanted_ it. That connection. And not just the way I've experienced with Doyle and Hope, who were too misguided to love me the right way. When we had the case with my half-brother, all those years ago, do you remember? It was the first time I'd ever felt a connection to anything. A _solid_ one. I know that a blood relation doesn't mean that the child won't ever abandon me or reject me. But for once I would… I would like someone who _looks_ like me, who is, in some ways, just like me. So I don't feel that disconnection anymore."

Maura had sat up a little to look her straight in the eyes. "I do not undermine adoption in anyway. And I would not love a child that is biologically yours any less. I just. I need this, Jane. I never realised how much until the opportunity was presented to me. Please don't think me shallow."

"Maura, you are anything but shallow. If this is what you want, then it's what I want too."

She'd kissed her again. Because she could. Back then, she had always thought that privilege would remain.

* * *

She loses it with a suspect one day investigating the murder of an eight year old girl. Korsak has to drag her practically kicking and screaming out of interrogation, pushing her into an empty room nearby to give her the chance to calm down. She paces up and down, worrying the wedding ring on her finger. What's the point of it? What's the point of any of it, when healthy, vibrant little girls are killed in broad daylight and her parents don't even care that she's missing?

"You know, I still remember the day you told me Maura was pregnant."

Jane turns with tears in her eyes when Korsak speaks. He rests against the edge of the table, smiling.

"Thought I'd never see the day I saw Jane Rizzoli turn into a big softie. But then you just sort of… bloomed. Over night. Just like that."

He clicks his fingers. She turns away to rub the back of her hand against her cheek, catching the stray tears that fall. Yeah. A big softie alright.

"Seeing you two with that little girl brightened everyone's day around here. You remember when she stole that uni's hat, and he just let her have it for the rest of the day?"

"Yeah," she rasps. "I remember every damn minute I've had with Maddie."

When she turns back to him, he stands, dragging her close even as she hesitates. It's been so long since another person has comforted her. Even her own mother – everything has been focused on Maddie. As it should be. She's just not quite sure how to hold the pieces of herself together until the end. But Korsak is solid when she finally falls into his hug. Constant.

"You've gotta stop focusing on what time you've lost, Rizzoli. Focus on what you have left," he murmurs. "Nothing else matters but that."

* * *

When Maddie had first been born, both she and Maura had been equally as red in the face. Through the two days of labour Maura had been in, she had distracted herself by reciting statistic after statistic about the time length of birth rates, the weight of the baby, the chances of the baby being born breech. When it had come to actual delivery, she had almost forgotten to do the breathing exercises – which she had already made Jane practise with her over a dozen times – because she was so intent on distracting herself from the pain.

But the minute Maddie had been born, screaming at the top of her lungs, Maura had fallen silent except for her harsh breathing as she attempted to recover. Her iron grip on Jane's hand finally relaxed, and, once Maddie had been cleaned and weighed and swaddled in a blanket, she had finally been placed in Maura's arms and the first thing she did was cry.

Jane had reached out, trembling fingers pressing against her baby girl's cheek. So soft, so smooth. Brand new. And she had found herself crying too.

"Hello, Madison," Maura whispered through her tears. "We've been waiting to meet you for a long, long time."

She'd turned away from the new baby for a split second to look up at Jane.

"I love you. I love you so much."

Jane leant forward to kiss her.

"I love you too."

* * *

She does not pay attention to the sound of a patient flatlining as she heads down the hallway.

Jane knows every patient in every room. After spending so much time here, it's practically impossible. She knows that the patient who has just flatlined is little Michael Monroe. It tugs at her heart uncomfortably. Michael was only five. But she keeps walking, hands in her pockets, head down, as always. She still cannot focus on other people's pain quite yet.

As always, Maddie is asleep when she enters. Maura's bag sits at the end of the bed, just beneath their daughter's chart. _Madison "Maddie" Rizzoli-Isles. Stage Four Acute Myeloid Leukemia._

In her sleep, Maddie shifts, frowning a little. She reaches her side and rests her hand against her palm against her daughter's cheek. Maddie settles almost instantly. It's something she used to do as a baby, too. She would fuss and refuse to settle, wailing in her crib the moment she was alone in her room. But the moment she or Maura placed a palm on her stomach, she would fall asleep instantly.

It is a small thing but she is grateful for it. Nowadays it is the only way she can help.

"Jane."

She turns to find Maura emerging from the ensuite, drying her hands on a paper towel. She looks like Hell. Hair greasy and sticking to her cheeks, blouse and skirt wrinkled.

"Maura…"

Maura passes her, throwing the paper towel in the wastebasket. She sits on the other side of Maddie as always, tucking her legs up onto the chair too. It is only then that Jane notices the way the clothes are practically hanging off of her. Her cheekbones become a little sharper, cheeks too sallow, pasty skin clinging around the bones of her wrists. Just like Maddie.

"You need to go home," she says firmly.

Maura's eyes fly up to hers. "I'm fine."

"When was the last time you ate? Or slept? Or even changed your damn clothes?"

Maura's eyes fill with tears almost immediately. She climbs to her feet, trembling.

"Just because this is _easy_ for you – "

"Don't you _dare_ ," she growls. "She's my daughter too, Maura! Or did you forget that?"

"Of course I know that, but would it bother you so much to act like – "

"Mommy?"

They fall silent instantly, both turning to Maddie as she wakes, rubbing at one of her eyes with one small fist. Her eyes flutter open slowly, hazel a little duller than normal. She's only getting worse. It's a fact she's known for two months now. There's no hope of her getting better again.

"Hey, baby," she murmurs, instantly soft for her daughter. Sits beside her and takes her hand. "How you feeling?"

"Sleepy."

She smiles. "You sure you're not turning into a sloth? They must be the sleepiest animals on the entire planet."

"No, that's koalas," Maddie replies. Almost manages a little smile. "Momma taught me."

"My clever girl," she whispers.

Maura finally composes herself, reaching for her bag. She pushes her greasy hair up into a half hearted bun, only drawing attention to the severity of her weight loss. Jane looks away.

"I'm going to go home and shower, Maddie. I'll be back before you know it," Maura tells her, kissing her daughter's cheek.

"You should sleep, momma," Maddie says. "It's good for your immune system. If you get a cold, you can't visit me. I'll get an infection."

Maura stills, her hand curling around Maddie's shoulder. "I didn't teach you that."

"Mommy did."

Jane slips her ring from her finger in her pocket, twirling the metal band. In sickness and in health.

* * *

In some ways, Maddie had become everything Jane everything expected her to be by the time she was four. She was intellectually gifted, just like Maura had been – she'd already learned the name of the majority of the constellations in their solar system. She could do basic algebra and mastered the basic piano chords Jane had taught her. She was reasonable and did not throw tantrums. But there were so many facets to her that she hadn't expected. She hadn't expected her daughter to be so witty so young. Perhaps she should've expected the bruises and skinned knees she got from playing soccer with TJ. She wrinkled her nose whenever she watched Maura applying her make up and once burned off a whole layer of her hair attempting to curl her hair like Jane's. For a long time, Jane had wondered how much like her Maddie was in comparison to Maura, until the day she caught Maddie pretending to perform an autopsy on a stuffed teddy bear with her stolen cuffs attached to another. It didn't matter how much was her and how much was Maura. Maddie was her own unique and wonderful being. She loved her. Simple as that.

The topic of other children hadn't been discussed in years. They had never really planned on more, but they hadn't decided against it either. All of their energy had simply been put into raising Maddie. She had been enough.

But then, two weeks after her fourth birthday, Maddie walked into the kitchen where Jane was attempting to show Maura how to bake cookies. Put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot, making Jane raise an eyebrow.

"Someone's in a mood," she whispered to Maura out of the corner of her mouth.

Maura had hushed her, swatting her lightly. She had never found Maddie's strangely adult temperament half as amusing as Jane did.

"Do you have something you wish to say, Madison?"

"Melody Parker is gonna have a baby brother. Her mommy is this big," she'd said, holding her arms out in an exaggerated circle in front of her stomach.

"The kid from your preschool that cries every time she's dropped off?"

Maura nudged Jane sharply, hushed her again. Jane just smirked and popped half of an overdone cookie into her mouth.

"I want a baby brother."

Jane choked a little and reached out for her coffee to chug down the cookie. Maura circled her palm against her upper back and laughed softly.

"You know that the gender of the baby cannot be determined by humans naturally, Madison."

"But you can put the baby in here," Maddie argued. She walked forward and pat Maura's stomach. "That's what you did with me. You put me in there until I grew big enough to be born."

"We did," Maura agreed. "And, I suppose, we could do it again."

"Maura," Jane hissed. "Don't you think we should talk about this first?"

"I'm simply noting that it is a valid option. We _could_ have another baby."

Maddie grinned, holding her arms up. Jane had rolled her eyes and picked her daughter up regardless. Pinched her cheek and made her laugh.

They had been happy.

They hadn't suspected anything.

* * *

Maura arrives a little later than usual. Jane's in the middle of giving Maddie a bed bath – something she learned to do over a month ago – when Maura practically bursts into the room. The sound shocks them both. Jane simply startles a little and Maddie yelps, but relaxes when she spots her mother. Jane finds her eyes running over her wife. She looks a little harried, yes, and she has not miraculously gained weight since the last time she saw her two days ago. But the clothes that she wears are not wrinkled, her hair freshly clean, the bags beneath her eyes not so deeply imprinted.

"I overslept," she says breathlessly, rushing forward. "I'm so sorry, Madison, I – "

"Told you, Momma. Sleep helps your immune system."

But Maura still seems bothered, repeatedly kissing Maddie's forehead, stroking her hair. Jane looks away and focuses on the repetitive motions of the sponge. She gets it.

Once Maddie is bathed, Jane settles in her regular seat. Maura pulls a large and heavy book out of her bag, eyes still brimming with tears, and presents it to Maddie with a smile. Maddie is too weak to hold it, but manages to reach out and hand and press her palm against the cover, smiling a little.

"I found it online. I thought it could be an early birthday present."

"I still get my dogs?"

Maura's smile wavers. "Of course."

She places the book in Maddie's lap and helps her flick through the pages. Jane leans over to see what the book is about. She smiles to herself as she spots them leafing through illustrations of constellations.

"Look, momma. Lupus," Maddie says, pointing to a clutter of stars on the page.

"I love that one too," Maura murmurs.

Carefully, Maura slips onto the bed with Maddie. She manoeuvres herself around the wires and tubing until Maddie is tucked into her side, head resting on her shoulder, the book in her lap as they discuss the stars. Jane's throat goes dry and she scratches at the back of her hands, feeling for her scars. She used to find them like this. Before. She'd get home from a particularly heavy case after insisting Maura go home to be with Maddie hours before. She would want nothing more than a slice of pizza and to go to sleep, but the minute she stepped into her and Maura's bedroom she would find them laying like this and learning together. And suddenly she no longer wanted to sleep, she only wanted to be with them. Her family.

Maddie falls to sleep ten minutes later, little jaw falling slack and drooling slightly on Maura's shoulder. She doesn't show any sign of wiping it away or disgust. Simply kisses her hair and breathes her in, ignoring Jane's eyes on her.

"You look better," Jane says, cutting through the tense silence.

"I feel well rested. After all, you're right. I can't risk not being able to see her."

Jane nods, looking back down at her hands, twisting them. Sometimes, late at night as she tosses and turns desperate for sleep, she is terrified that will happen. That something as minor as a cold will prevent her from seeing her daughter. And what if those few days are Maddie's last few days? She's been living on borrowed time for two weeks now. Neither of them can risk it.

"Thank you, Jane."

She looks up to find Maura watching her. Her eyes are softer than they have been in months.

"Don't mention it."

* * *

They had a meeting planned with a fertility clinic the day Maura had noticed the bruises.

It had been put on hold in favour of taking Maddie to see a doctor. Jane had rolled her eyes. Insisted that it was just a result of Maddie's usual roughhousing with TJ. She hadn't been able to sway Maura from her decision however. A couple weeks after, all plans of a second child had been put on hold as a specialist sat before them and informed then their daughter had stage one AML.

"But she's not even five yet," Jane had protested weakly. She covered Maddie's ears as if that would make it go away. "She can't… Can't you get rid of it?"

Maura had reached over and taken her hand as the doctor explained treatment options, Maddie resting her head at her shoulder, disinterested. The doctor's voice had faded away quickly. The only thing she could hear were the small breaths Maddie took and the way they felt as they blew out against the skin of her neck.

In and out.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

 **TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

"I was gonna take her to the beach."

Maura looks up, away from studying the whorl of Maddie's fingertips. She seems a little surprised to have heard Jane speak. Hesitates before she can formulate an answer.

"I was going to teach her Russian ballet."

"She would've hated that."

"Maybe."

Jane clasps her hands together. It's still strange. Feeling her fingers press together without the metal of her ring interrupting. She'd taken it off last night after weeks of seeing Maura's without hers.

"I was gonna scare the crap outta anyone she ever dated. No way I was ever gonna let anyone treat her bad."

It isn't right. Talking about their daughter like she's already gone when her sleeping form rests between them.

But then, Maura looks up, and she almost smiles.

"Bad _ly_."

It is the most wonderful thing she has heard all year.

* * *

The fights broke out two months into Maddie's treatment.

She supposes, looking back, Maura had done nothing wrong. She had simply been there for their daughter. She had used her money to get her the best treatment, the best doctors, the best hospital. They had almost become strangers in the process. Two people who spoke of nothing but sickness and – for the most part – Jane thinks she had resented Maura. But Maura had understood it all. She could look through medical journals and understand the processes, what was going on inside their daughter's body. And though she tried, Jane could not wholly fathom it. She was no doctor. She was Maddie's mom. But that hadn't been enough.

They'd arrive home from another round of Maddie's chemo. By that point, their daughter was completely bald, no traces of her honey blonde hair to be seen. Just four years old and already there was something so aged about her. The weariness that tugged around her eyes, the thinness of her skin.

And Maddie would sleep. And sleep. And she'd cry and she'd throw up and Maura would handle it. Because she knew what she was doing. And Jane would sit in the hallway with her elbows on her knees, staring fixedly at the same spot on Maddie's doorframe. The places they'd marked her height. And then, by the time Maura had helped Maddie and let her rest again, Jane could no longer hold back the foul words that left her mouth.

Maura had recoiled, at first. It had been the first time she had seen any sort of suffering since Maddie's diagnosis.

"So now you care, do you?" She'd snarled, even as Maura turned away, headed away from Maddie's room. She'd chased after her. "Queen Of The Dead, is that it? Is that what you want to be for our daughter? You'd rather she'd be dead so you could understand her? I bet you're enjoying all of this, aren't you?"

It happened so quickly. Even now, she cannot remember Maura turning, or the stretch of her hand to her cheek. There had simply been the sharp stinging radiating after she had been slapped. The almighty shock of it that sent remorse flooding through her.

Yet, still, Maura had said nothing.

Jane had slept alone in their bed that night.

Maura had slept on the floor beside Maddie.

* * *

When she wakes, Jane spends almost an hour staring at her calendar. It used to be filled with trivial things. _Dentist appt 2pm. Korsak's Anniversary._ Now, she counts the days. Thirty-five days until Maddie's birthday. Thirty-five days she won't have.

She has nothing written on that date.

Pulling the calendar down and off its hook, Jane grabs a pen and sits on the couch, staring. May eleventh. She grabs the notebook she has been using to deal with things – a trick she had learned from Maura long ago.

 _We would get her two huskies,_ she writes. _They'd adore her. Keep her safe. Protect her. Just like us._

Jane pauses, feeling the sharp burn of tears press against her eyes, an aching forming along the bridge of her nose. She wipes at her cheeks hastily. Her handwriting is shaky from that moment onwards. Almost illegible.

 _In the days she doesn't have, she would have a baby brother. She would be very, very happy and she would be loved. We would be together._

She writes one last sentence before snapping the lid back onto the pen, abandoning it and reaching for her jacket before she leaves for the hospital. The pages flutter as she closes the door behind her.

 _We would name him Max._

* * *

For Maddie's fourth birthday, she had woken them up before the sun had even risen. Jane had groaned and pulled the covers up and over her head. Beside her, Maura had laughed softly, trying to coax Madison into lying with them and being quiet. It had worked, eventually, their daughter squashed between the two of them. Her bony elbows had dug into Jane's ribs a couple times and her hair caught up in her mouth. But when she complained, she had been met with two identical sets of eyes watching her with amusement.

Later, at a semi-reasonable time, they'd all rolled out of bed. Maddie had danced around them as Maura ran an understanding hand down Jane's back and nudged a mug of coffee into her hands. Their daughter had only been distracted from the thought of opening her presents by making pancakes with Maura, their hands and their hair covered in flour by the end of it, the majority of the pancakes burnt.

Still, Maddie had been as happy as ever. The girl rarely cried. So she sat and ate her burnt pancakes while eyeing her presents and waiting for Jane to finish her coffee.

"Oh, wow, mommies," she'd whispered once she'd opened her present, little fingers pressing against the certificate. "You bought me a star?"

Maura nodded, smiling. Maddie grinned, dropping the certificate and practically throwing herself into Jane's lap, little arms locked a little too tightly around her neck.

"Thank you, mommy!" She practically yelled, kissing her cheek, before throwing herself at Maura to do the same.

She almost fainted on the spot when she opened her extra present and found a telescope. The day couldn't have passed any slower for Maddie from that point onwards. Consistently checking at the windows to see whether it had turned dark yet and if the stars were out. Even when the Rizzoli clan arrived to celebrate, she'd steal away for a few moments, always checking.

By the time the festivities were over and the night sky really had emerged, Maddie had been dancing on the spot. She practically wrenched the certificate with the co-ordinates for her star out of Maura's hands with an insistent _I can do it, momma,_ before setting the telescope in the right direction. Her small hands had pressed against her own cheeks comically once she had spotted it.

"Oh, mommy. Come see," she'd insisted, tugging on her hand.

Jane had set Maddie in her lap, peering over her shoulder and through the telescope to see the star. She felt something in her chest; that fierceness she always did when she thought of her wife, of their daughter. That love. In that moment, she had been exactly where she'd always wanted to be.

"Happy birthday, baby," she'd murmured, pressing a kiss against Maddie's hair as Maura took her turn to look.

Maddie smiled.

* * *

It is only after she has been sitting and watching Maddie sleep for twenty minutes that she realises, distantly, she can hear crying. Frowning, Jane stands. It's not unusual to hear crying in this ward. This is not a ward full of hopefuls. It is, instead, where the children are moved for their last few weeks. It is the place where they all wait. But the crying never normally sounds so… close. She cocks her head, listening for a moment, before she realises that she recognises the sound. She brushes a kiss against Maddie's forehead before she heads for the ensuite, pushing the door open to find Maura huddled in the bathtub Maddie used to be strong enough to use.

"Go away," she croaks, turning her blotchy face away from Jane.

Jane closes the door behind her quietly, making sure not to disturb Maddie. Maura draws the curtain around the bathtub. Normally, before, she would pull it back, cup her cheeks in her palms, kiss the problems away. Now she does not. Instead, she sits, resting her back against the ceramic tub, feeling the strange material of the curtain brush against her hair. Every twenty seconds or so, Maura takes a sharp breath among the tears.

"I hear you've taken leave from work," Jane says into the silence, picking at a thread on her pants.

Maura hesitates before answering thickly. "An indefinite amount, yes. I have a lot of vacation time owed."

"Cavanaugh tried to force me to take some time off. After he heard you were. But I… I can't."

Maura gives a bitter laugh. A little wave of anger, purely born from her stubbornness, rolls through her. She breathes through it. After all they have been through, she will not let them yell at each other in this cramped bathroom while their daughter is dying next door.

She turns, resting an elbow against the tub. Through the curtain, she can see the shadowy outline of Maura.

"Without my work to distract me, I – I don't know who the hell I'd be, Maura. I know I've not been who I used to be. Not anymore. But the person I would've become without that band-aid would've been a monster. When it happens, Maura, when she's gone, it's going to be all I have. I sure as hell don't have you."

A beat passes, and then Maura pulls the curtain back so that they are face to face. Her eyes are sunken, rimmed red. The spaces beneath them almost look blistered from all of her crying. She sniffs, dabbing at them with tissue and wincing.

"Maura… you have a little girl in that that loves you. She thinks the absolute _world_ of you. You're her hero."

Maura shakes her head, tendrils of hair falling and catching in her eyelashes.

"No. That was always you," she rasps. "She got sick, and I fussed. I became her doctor, not her mother. And you came home with stories of all the bad guys you'd helped put away that day. It's a wonder she can even stand to be in the same room as me when you're around."

"Don't you dare," she says sharply. Her hand reaches out without thinking. She catches herself before she can take Maura's hand, instead retracts her own. "Maur, I didn't know how to help her. You did. I hid in my work."

"I hid in science."

A few fresh tears roll down her cheeks and a low, strangled moan rips its way out of her throat again.

"I don't know who I'm gonna be without her either, Jane," Maura cries. "She's – she's – "

Jane no longer hesitates. Instead, she lifts, climbing into the tub with Maura. She pulls her close. Even after five months without her, she still knows how to hold her, and Maura folds against her easily. Jane closes her eyes and clenches her jaw as her wife trembles against her with every sob. The nurses will be doing rounds soon. Maybe they will hear. She hopes like hell that Maddie doesn't. Let her sleep on and rest. Let her believe that, in her last days, nothing has changed. That her moms love her and each other and want nothing more than for them all to be together without a time limit.

Maura grips her a little tighter. She finally lets herself cry too.

* * *

The day before she had left Maura, Maddie had been admitted to hospital.

They had been nothing more than two strangers sharing a bed for months. They hardly spoke a word to each other, unless they were around Maddie. Then they'd keep up appearances. But the moment Maddie had been out of earshot, they returned to maintaining their distance from one another.

The chemo hadn't worked. Clinical trials hadn't worked. The disease spread. Maddie's Doctor sat down three days before and told them there was nothing left to do. No other path to journey together and hope for the best. And then, Maddie had caught a cold, which lead to an infection, which lead to her admittance to the hospital.

The room, for a hospital, was large. Spacious. Wallpaper with giraffes and elephants on it. An ensuite for Maddie to have privacy. Two chairs and an optional extra cot if they ever had to stay overnight. All of this bought with Maura's money. All of it things that she herself could not provide.

Eventually, exhausted, Maura had fallen asleep. Jane had snuck out of the hospital room and headed home, packing her things immediately.

As she packed, she thought that she should have felt some sense of remorse. It only came when she stood, suitcase beside her, in the doorway to Maddie's empty room. They'd managed to grab some of her things before she had been admitted. Her favourite books. Her stuffed husky doll. Apart from those few items, Maddie's room was almost unchanged. She'd turned away from it with a heavy heart. Already, she'd known, her daughter would never go back to that room. She would live the last of her days being monitored in a hospital bed.

"So that's it, then? You're just going to leave?"

Jane had jumped, turning to find Maura standing and watching her from the stairs.

"I don't have a reason to stay."

She'd ignored the way Maura had flinched. Instead she had pushed past her, dragging her suitcase down the stairs. Maura had always hated the sound. The thump of each step. She'd always lecture her to simply pick the case up and carry it down. But that time, Jane made sure to drag it with force, making every thump echo loudly through the house.

"So this whole time," Maura said behind her, so quietly she almost missed it. "You've only been with me for her?"

Jane had sighed, turning agitatedly.

"Maura. You know it, I know it – we don't love each other anymore."

Maura had taken a step back. "We don't?"

Jane laughed bitterly. Almost outraged. She stared at her wife in disbelief.

"Does that really come as such a shock, Maura? Jeez, I know your social skills are a little skewed, but I thought you'd notice that we don't exactly behave like married couples do anymore."

Maura had blinked rapidly. "It's – it's a rough patch, we'll – "

"A rough patch?" Jane repeated incredulously. "Our daughter is _dying,_ Maura. She is going to die. What, does the rough patch finish when she's dead, is that it? Then we can go back to being a happy family now that she's out of the way?"

Maura took a sharp breath. "I didn't mean – "

"Oh, I think you did. I think you have no idea what this feels like. You look at her the way a doctor looks at a patient. Well guess what, Maura, she's not your patient!"

"You don't think I know?" Maura had thrown back. Tears formed in her eyes. "I carried her for _nine months,_ Jane. I gave birth to her."

"That does not make her any more _yours_ than it makes her mine."

"I didn't – that's not what I meant – " Maura groaned, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "I never should've had her."

Everything in the room stopped. Maura's hand fell away from her face. The eyes that she revealed were exhausted; tired, Jane supposed, from all of these months of looking after Maddie. But she could not feel any level of sympathy. All she felt was bile rising up in her chest, higher, higher, to her throat, until she actually thought she might vomit then and there. This was not the woman she had married. The woman that she had decided to start a family with. That woman was warm and cried over the idea of having a blood relation. That woman would _never_ regret her child.

"If you think that," Jane said lowly. "Then you do _not_ deserve to be her mother."

Maura's eyes glittered with tears. "I suppose not."

Jane found herself stuck to her spot. Where was Maura's fight? Where was the denial? When had her strength dissipated, replaced with this horrible, regretful human stood before her? Maura sighed, her heels the only source of noise in the room as she took a step towards Jane.

"I shouldn't have been the one to carry her. I don't know my biological family's history. I know that my half-sister needed my kidney just to stay alive. I know nothing about Doyle's family. I don't know if cancer runs in the family. If there are any other diseases that she could've inherited," Maura had said softly. "If you had been the one to have her, you'd know. You'd know there's no history in your family of any diseases and that she would be perfectly healthy. Because of me, because of my selfish delusions that blood would give me some sort of connection I have missed out on, she has cancer."

Jane had taken a deep breath. "If I'd had her, the child we would've had wouldn't be Madison. It would have been a different kid. It wouldn't be _her,_ Maura."

Maura smiled bitterly. "And she never would've had to suffer."

Jane gawked. "Why don't you just fucking appreciate what you have? Appreciate all of the time we have been able to spend with her?"

"So you're telling me you're selfish enough to feel her suffering – so much suffering, Jane – is worth it, because it meant that _you_ had her for a little while?"

Jane stared at Maura, eyes wide. The woman in front of her was not Maura. She was… she was sleep deprived, or maybe she was beginning to crack, all of the guilt finally becoming too much to hold steadily anymore.

She turned and slammed the door behind her.

She pretended not to hear the way Maura sobbed as she left.

* * *

Jane runs a hand through her hair, sighing, as she ends the call with her Ma. It's just another one of her relationships that has suffered since Maddie's diagnosis. She had been too crowding, too suffocating, for Jane to be able to handle it. She knows, logically, her mother is only trying to help. Still, now, she's like an outsider. Her mother will visit and fawn over Maddie and speak with Maura and Jane will sit, watching, wondering what parts of her family she has left – even when it happens, she knows she's being melodramatic. Her ma loves her. But she loves Maura too. And there is no question about her love for Maddie.

She just misses her family. She has been disconnected from them for so long.

As she tucks her phone into her pocket and heads down the hall, she doesn't look down this time. She passes doors and windows to rooms with other sick little kids, all wearing the same battered, exhausted expression as Maddie does despite the hopeful naivety shining in their eyes. All of these kids have their families with them. Siblings taking their hands or just a father sat vigil by their sleeping body.

Jane stops when she reaches Maddie's door. She does not go inside. Instead, she steps to the side, peering through the half-drawn blinds. What kind of family will she find inside? There's Maura, sitting by Maddie, as always, clasping their daughter's hand. Almost as if she can sense her, Maura looks over, frowning a little when she spots her simply watching them, unmoving. Jane feels her throat constrict when Maura leans over to kiss Maddie's forehead before moving away, joining Jane in the hallway.

"Is something wrong with your mother?" She asks, immediately concerned, and Jane feels another part of her heart melt away.

"No, no – she's fine. Annoying, but fine," Jane answers, making Maura laugh a little. She blinks rapidly against the sudden tears that almost make it to her eyes. She does not know the last time she heard Maura laugh.

"Then what is it?"

Jane props her hip against the wall and studies Maura. She looks tired. Really, really tired. Exhausted, down to the bone kind of tired. And yet, here she is, reaching out to help despite how many times Jane has lashed out at her these past few months.

"I miss you," she whispers. Maura flinches. "I miss our home. I want to come home, Maura. I want Maddie to come home as well."

"We don't have the medical – "

"Maura," she murmurs, stepping forward. Maura watches her carefully, almost analysing, as though she is prey and Jane is the predator. She simply takes her hand. "Maddie is going to die. You know it. I think you knew long before I did, before I could ever accept it. It is no longer a question of _if._ I think it only matters where."

Maura does not grip Jane's hand in return. Instead hers sits, limp and heavy, in the cradle of Jane's.

"You want her to die in her bed?"

"I think she deserves the choice. And, given that choice, I think Maddie would always choose to come home. She'd want to be back in her own bed, surrounded by her own things. And us."

Maura takes a moment to accept this. She bites her lower lip slightly, eyes darting down to their hands.

"I don't know how I'm going to… how I'll cope, if we do that. Because I'll lose her, and then you'll leave again, too."

Oh.

Jane blinks. She releases Maura's hand, heart pausing for a moment when Maura sighs, as if she had expected this, as if she's simply going to leave again. Instead, Jane reaches into the inside pocket of her blazer, pulling out of her ring. Maura stares at it in the palm of her hand before she reaches for the neckline of her blouse, pulling a chain with her wedding ring out between them. They smile at each other shyly, until Jane steps forward, pressing her wedding band in Maura's palm and pulling Maura's off of her chain.

"What are you – "

Jane shakes her head. Maura falls silent, watching curiously. Jane takes Maura's left hand and slides the ring back where it should be.

"There are a million and one things we have to talk about," Jane murmurs. Maura looks up, eyes still guarded, even as her fingers close around Jane's ring in her palm. "This isn't the time. But we'll talk about them. We'll get through it."

Maura's eyes fill with tears.

Yeah. There are things they should discuss. Maura had been too distant during Maddie's sickness. Jane had been unwilling to share her hurt. Maura had not included her, sometimes; but Jane had not pushed, she had not demanded to be let in. Maura had provided Maddie with everything Jane could not – the expensive medical equipment, the clinical trials, the hospital room. The jealousy had overcome her, as if they had been competing. They'd lost sight of each other at some point.

She can see clearly now.

"You promise?"

Jane smiles. "Cross my heart, hope to – "

"Don't," Maura beseeches softly.

She takes Jane's left hand, sliding her ring on too. It fits snugly on her fingers. Where it belongs.

Jane watches as Maura takes a steadying breath. She looks up, frowning a little. They're the only two people in this empty hospital hallway. It is this fact that seems to spur Maura on. Places her hand on Jane's shoulder and pushes up on her toes to kiss her.

It is soft and short and chaste and it is enough.

When they part, she rests her forehead against Maura's, smiling. In the corner of her eye, she sees Maddie watching them, smiling too.

* * *

Their first night in the hospital with Maddie had been a good one. She had not been sick or broken a bone or caught a bug. She had been five hours old and Maura had slept, exhausted from labour, when Maddie woke and began to fuss.

"Hey, hey," Jane murmured, lifting the wriggling form of her daughter from her cot. "None of that. Let your momma rest."

She walked to the window, so that they could see out over the city. The buildings and the people and all of the wonderful, eccentric things unique to Boston. Rocked Maddie back and forth in her arms and hushed her until her cries began to slow. The angry red that flushed her skin began to disappear, until she was silent, watching Jane carefully. She'd known that babies couldn't see, not really, but she still nodded out to the window.

"There's a whole world out there just waiting for you, baby," she whispered. "Me and momma keep it safe so that you can go out there and do whatever you want. Maybe you'll even be a detective like me. That'll give your grandma a heart attack, huh?"

Maddie blinked slowly in response. Jane laughed quietly, checking over her shoulder that Maura was still resting before looking back down at her daughter in her arms.

"Nah. I think you'll be an astronaut. Your momma can teach you all the science and I'll train with you. You'll go to the stars."

She brushed her pinky finger against Maddie's cheek. She fell asleep almost instantly. Carefully, Jane moved away from the window, lowering her back down into the cot. She rest her palm against her small stomach, her palm almost panned her entire torso. Maura stirred in her sleep.

"What a life you'll live," she whispered, smiling.

* * *

Before they leave the hospital, Maddie insists that they go up onto the roof, so that she can see the stars properly. Maura hesitates, but follows the two of them regardless, her hand sitting on top of Jane's as she wheels their daughter around.

It is cold and the wind blows Jane's hair in her face when they emerge upstairs. Maddie gasps, surprised. She has not been outside in months. But it is not a painful kind of surprise, even as Maura watches her, concerned. She grins, holding her arms out, as she watches over the city for a minute.

"I'm really going home, mommies?"

"Yeah, kid. I promise."

Maddie sighs happily. She looks up at the stars, squinting a little, before twisting in her wheelchair. She forces them to wheel her over to the other side of the roof. She watches the stars again until she spots something, pointing weakly at the sky.

"Lupus, mommies."

She sees something that Jane cannot. She glances at Maura, noticing her brow furrowed, trying to figure out where it is the constellation lurks too. Maura flushes when she catches Jane watching her.

"I don't want huskies for my birthday anymore. I want a wolf," she tells them. "But two. I don't want it to be lonely when I get too sick. They've gotta be a pack, like us."

Jane crouches down to kiss the side of Maddie's head. "We'll get you them."

Thirty-three days she does not have.

"Momma?"

Maura bends down too, taking Maddie's hand. Their daughter smiles.

"Mommy told me what really happens when I get sick and I go to sleep forever."

Maura controls her reaction incredibly well. If Jane didn't know her so well, she might have missed the way her free hand curled into a fist, her jaw rippling as she fought the need to clench it and the wobbling ache that came with crying. Maddie does not notice.

"What happens, Maddie?"

"Momma, I'm gonna go to the stars."

Everything seems to escape Maura. She catches her eyes and watches the way she fights tears. Her mouth opens, just a little, as if she is going to say something. Instead she looks away, closes her mouth and takes a deep breath before smiling for their daughter.

"I'll visit _my_ one first," Maddie tells them, oblivious. "You can't see it from here. But you can see it from home. So you'll always see me, mommies, even when I'm not with you."

"Yes, we will," Maura agrees. For once, her hives do not flare.

Jane stands, clearing her throat, as Maddie begins to shiver in the cold. They have to go. She lets Maura take the wheelchair handles and presses a soft kiss to her cool skin. Knocks her forehead against hers lightly. It brings something of a real smile bubbling to the surface.

"It's time to go home," Jane murmurs. Maura nods and Maddie claps her hands, excited.

Together, they wheel Maddie back down, and out of the hospital for good. Maddie wriggles free of Maura's grasp and insists on climbing into the car herself. For once, Maura does not insist on sitting in the back with their daughter. Instead she sits beside Jane in the front, resting one hand on her thigh. As they pull away from the hospital and join the rest of Boston, her eyes flicker up to the rear view mirror, watching Maddie, whose pale face is pressed up against the glass of the window, absorbing the world around her.

She can see nothing but the little girl who would run for hours in their garden, chasing after everything, her hair flying out behind her.

Yeah.

They're really going home.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
